Fraternization with the enemy
by Verbophobic
Summary: When the twins decide to fraternize, things go down


Prologue

Sunstreaker leaned back on his servos, watching Sideswipe as his twin brother looked up at the sky. More specifically, Sideswipe was looking at the seekers soaring far above their helms. It was a night where the skies were full and bright with color, seekers dancing through the sky and performing flight patterns that the twins had no hope of understanding the deeper meanings of, though they knew deeper meanings existed. Sideswipe himself was shrieking with joy, running about with his arms stretched out, pretending to be a seeker himself. He even fluttered the tiny panels that would one day be door wings in a broken imitation of Seeker wing cant. He wanted so dearly to be up there, dancing with the seekers he had admired for as long as the twins had been able to watch the skies. His little pedes came to a stop and he stretched up onto his toes, reaching as high as he could. He watched with bright, wondering optics as two of the seekers he'd been watching came together and spiraled around each other, bellies nearly touching. They were beautiful, Sides thought, and he twisted around in circles as fast as he could to follow them, earning a fond look from his twin.

He could get away with his games, as small as he still was. It was easy for passing mecha to mistake him for a sparkling, and Sunstreaker as an elder sibling or sitter. After all, Sunstreaker was an upgrade or two ahead of Sideswipe, and was larger than his red twin. He couldn't play like that without drawing more attention than they needed, and with their lives any attention was too much. Watching Sideswipe was enough for him, however, and he could experience that joy and wonder through his spark, through the link he shared with his brother. It wasn't the same, not really, but it was the hand that life had dealt them, and they were able to make the most of it. Sideswipe twisted to face him and waved, before stumbling and falling back on his aft, giggling at himself. A small twitch of Sunstreaker's lips was the only indication that he gave of wanting to smile as well. His silly, perfect little twin, dancing across Cybertron's warm plating, playing games as though the cruelty of the world could never touch him. For these small, brief moments, he could almost believe that was true.

It wasn't true of course. The world's cruelty touched him every day, his half of their shared spark growing and developing in spite of the tiny frame hosting it. Sunstreaker wished he could afford the upgrades for a frame that wouldn't leave Sideswipe's spark-half feeling squished into a too-small space, but it just wasn't possible, and it wouldn't be for a long time, no matter what work he scrounged up to do. He barely made enough credits to get them energon rations every day, and the money that was leftover often went into the next day's rations. He had a little box of credits that he was trying to save, but there were still so few. Too few. And too often Sunstreaker had to empty that little box in order to feed his twin on the days that he couldn't scrape up anything at all.

"Sunny! Sunny! Come fly with me!" Sideswipe trilled out, stopping in his games for a moment to face his brother. He could tell that Sunstreaker was getting too deep into his "serious thoughts", and he wanted to distract him, wanted to see him have fun too. His optics seemed to sparkle and dance as he waited, and Sunstreaker was nearly overwhelmed by his brother's beauty. He knew that when Sideswipe finally did get those upgrades, he'd be a force to be reckoned with, with optics like those. His lips twitched up again and he shook his helm, turning down the request and denying himself the moment of innocence, of fun. He wished that he could take a break to play and dance with his brother, but someone needed to keep guard, and Sideswipe was having far too much fun to risk ending things early. The smaller mech hadn't been too set on getting his twin to play though - Sunny never did - and Sideswipe was long used to his denials. He asked every time though, hoping that one day Sunstreaker would say yes. One day, Sunstreaker wouldn't be so exhausted, he wouldn't have to be the strong one anymore. For now though, Sideswipe continued to play on his own and didn't seem any less joyful for it. Sunstreaker was grateful for that at least, glad that nothing - not even his own limited happiness - could dampen Sideswipe's joy.

He kept watching his twin, fully aware of both his brother and the environment around them. It wouldn't do to lose track of the world at large, not when he had someone to protect. Still, his primary focus was on Sideswipe, as it always was. His optics slowly traced over his twin's frame, seeking out point after point where it was all too clear that the frame was much too small. From his tiny black digits connected to too-small servos, up over gray forearms that flapped about as Sideswipe squawked and 'flew'. His itty-bitty black pede got stuck on something, and then he was tripping and landing flat on his hood, tiny panels flapping and flailing for the briefest moment as he tried and failed to catch himself.

After assuring himself that his brother wasn't harmed, Sunstreaker returned his focus to Sideswipe's arms, optics dimming as his mouth turned down into a scowl. Scars - cheap and poorly done weld marks - that would never be healed marked ragged slashes across the soft metal surface, glinting in the light and marring an otherwise seemingly perfect form. Maybe when he got Sideswipe upgraded, he could get him some all new paneling for his protoform too... As it stood, however, Sideswipe's frame would be forced to grow on its own and - Primus forbid - there was a very real risk of him becoming classed as a minibot if he was allowed to grow without the help of upgrades. A Cybertronian's frame could only develop so far without help. Every bot relied on upgrades for growth, and before upgrades were widely available, many young bots died because of the strain on the spark. Sunstreaker refused to let Sideswipe become one of those young bots. He would take Sideswipe's spark-half into his own frame, protect and shield him there until a more suitable frame could be found, long before he allowed Sideswipe to die.

He moved on in his inspection and sneered at Sideswipe's gray thighs, still dented from larger mechs' rough servos. They hadn't yet had time this week to buff those out. Sunstreaker did his best to spare Sideswipe that fate as often as he could, however, and some weeks were much worse than this. It was bad enough that Sunstreaker had lowered himself to cheap buymech status just to ensure they got enough fuel; he had ripped apart plenty of larger mechs that he had caught with their paws all over his brother instead. No matter how many times Sunstreaker snarled at mecha that his twin wasn't a part of the deal, none ever wanted to listen until they were missing at least half of their plating.

A frame was only a frame. It was a spark deep belief that both twins shared, and it was that belief that allowed Sunstreaker to play the role of willing pleasurebot to snag a few extra credits. They only ever touched his frame, and a frame was nothing. A frame could be cleaned, repaired, replaced. The spark was the thing to protect, and Sunstreaker did so viciously. All the same, he didn't have to allow Sideswipe's frame to be brutalized as well, if he could stop it (they were only kidding themselves really - the spark felt nearly everything the frame felt no matter how thoroughly they tried to dissociate in the moment, and telling themselves that it was "just a frame" was probably more damaging than accepting that they were being hurt, that they were… well, unwilling).

At least Sideswipe's beautiful red calves only had scuff marks - those could easily be passed off as a sparkling just playing around, and sometimes Sunstreaker even fooled himself into believing that's what it was. Now, too, his brilliant red hood was duller, coated in scuff marks from the tumble he just took. Sunstreaker wasn't too concerned; Sideswipe was taking it well, rolling on the ground and laughing. It was clear that he wasn't harmed at all, and Sunstreaker was relieved at that. They barely got enough energon as it was, there was little chance that even giving Sideswipe his own share would produce enough energon to fuel repair nanites. Sideswipe's frame was unnaturally fragile, and Sunstreaker hated when anything happened to it to risk the brilliant spark underneath.

Pushing himself up, Sunstreaker had to turn away before he focused on too many out of place flaws and made himself ill. There were cuts on his twin's abdomen that he'd noticed (from the fall? From something else? He couldn't remember now), and he thought he saw a bluish silver color on him that definitely wasn't a part of his paint scheme. Had they missed a spot while cleaning Sideswipe earlier? He chanced a second look, and his optics moved fast as he searched his twin's face and helm for anything else. He felt a pang in his spark when his gaze ghosted over the patch-plating where Sideswipe's audial horns used to be. It still hurt them both, and they were haunted by phantom pains late at night, but they were used to it by now. Like everything else, they couldn't afford to have them replaced. Sunstreaker had made sure to rip more than just sensors off the mech that had done that. Sideswipe could still hear, the sensors themselves hadn't been damaged to that point, but the horns were gone, and Sunstreaker couldn't look directly at his twin without remembering the event all over again.

He looked down at his own servos - Clean and pristine. Under the layers upon layers of paint, he was sure that there were still scars. There wouldn't be many since he'd upgraded recently, but even with the Pit master doing the buying ("C'mon scraplet, no mech wants to see a little wraith like you in the pit. A match like that would be too short, no fun for anyone. Yer gettin' too old now to cater to the sparkling fetishists for me, so we're gettin' those upgrades. You'll pay me back one way or another."), Sunstreaker hadn't been able to completely replace all of his parts, only most of them. His digits curled into fists, and his optics flickered back to his twin.

He tried to not be obvious about it, controlling his response as best as he could, but as he shifted his gaze he saw it; there was just the slightest shift in the darkness that revealed a mecha watching his twin from the shadows. A low growl rumbled from his chassis. No, not tonight. He wouldn't allow it tonight. It was their night off for Primus' sake, and he'd paid the Pit master that morning!

"Misfire!" He called sharply, leaving no room for being ignored. Sideswipe froze in place, optics brightening a little, before darting to his twin's side as quickly as he could.

"Yes, Dissy?" he whispered once he was close enough. He knew that when Sunstreaker used his false designation, they weren't allowed to be themselves. False names meant that either an owner, opponent or client was near, and Sunstreaker had made sure their designations hadn't been ruined in the gutters like their frames. False names kept them safe, kept anyone from being able to track them down when they weren't in the Pits. As long as they had their true names, then they still had a chance to be free.

"It's time to go home," Sunstreaker said firmly, holding his servo out. Sideswipe's expression twisted into something disappointed, but he took his twin's servo obediently. Standing together like this, they were both acutely aware that the elder nearly doubled the younger in size. In most cases, they found it was actually to their advantage. No one looking believed they were twins, and it spared them a lot more pain that no one could use it against them, while at the same time Sunstreaker was always able to use their bond against anyone hurting his brother.

Tugging Sideswipe close to his side where he could keep him safe, Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around his shoulders and started walking. Not toward home of course, at least not directly. His senses were tuned to their surroundings, determined to track anyone following them. He didn't want whoever this was to know where they lived.

The shadowed mech moved out into the open and began whistling as he walked away. He was being far too obvious about leaving, and Sunstreaker only became more and more alert, suspicious. He watched the mech intently, armor bristling, on full alert and waiting for the catch, for the mech to whip back around and come right for them. He was so absorbed in watching that mech, that he completely failed to notice the other mech behind him until he had grabbed Sideswipe by his scruff bar and lifted him high. Both twins jerked about trying to figure out what was happening, and Sideswipe gave a low wail of protest. He hated when people grabbed his scruff bar, hated the helplessness that washed through his frame when it happened.

Sunstreaker looked up, and up further still, and made a distressed noise as soon as he recognized the symbols emblazoned on the new mech's doorwings. If there was one thing he feared more than the clients, it was the Enforcers. He watched with horror as the Enforcer looked Sideswipe over, and he knew there was nothing he could do.

"Jazz, run a scan on him for me. I'm detecting transfluids, I want you to confirm and trace." The Enforcer held Sideswipe out in the direction of the mech that had been watching them from the shadows.

No. Was the other one an Enforcer too? Had they been tricked, trapped? Had Sunstreaker fallen for such an obvious ploy? He couldn't believe it.

Fear froze him in place, and he felt a burning behind his optic lenses, an impending threat of tears. He was supposed to protect Sideswipe! How could this happen? How could he let them be captured so easily like this? Sunstreaker knew what happened to younglings brought in by the Enforcers. They were entered into Cybertron's Abandoned Youth Placement system, and younglings found together rarely, if ever, stayed together.

"He is - or at least was - covered in it. 'Bout as dirty as a pleasure bot, an' I bet tha pits are usin' 'im fer jus' that, too." The visor on the second mech had flared brightly as he scanned Sideswipe, and he looked over at Sunstreaker, who began to tremble. Go away, he thought. Please just go away. Give my brother back and leave us alone. "That'n's clean, though. E's got a lotta hidden dents, so I'd say they're probably trainin' 'im up ta be a fighter 'r somethin'. 'E looks pretty scrappy, fer a mech his age."

The mech called Jazz kneeled down, and slowly reached out to the still frozen Sunstreaker, who flinched back violently as a servo was moved towards him. He was expecting to be struck. They'd been found, again. If these Enforcers knew they were from the Pits, they would skip the placement center altogether and send them right back there, but that meant paperwork, and paperwork upset the Enforcers, who upset the Pit master, who - his thoughts seemed to shatter as the soft touch of knuckles ran down his cheek instead of the sharp pain of a slap, drawing his focus instantly. Jazz smiled, impressed despite himself. These poor younglings had been through a lot, and yet there was still a strength in them, a strength that made them shine like beacons to his spark.

"Hey now, it's okay lil' un. We ain't gonna hurt ya, I promise. Our friend is a medic, he can remove tha' self destruction coding in ya both and ya can be free, ya want that?"

Free. It was a concept he'd been toying with since they upgraded him enough to fight, to take down full grown mechs. It had always been just out of reach, however, as the coding kicked in whenever he honestly considered it. Like now. "Please-" Sunstreaker rasped, determined to fight it, to save Sideswipe if nothing else, and his frame rattled with fear and hope. The coding was like fire racing down his spinal strut, and he hated that it set him so close to crying. Without it, the only barrier keeping them from freedom was the cost - the Pit master owned their contract, and all of Kaon accepted the Pit contracts as essentially legal slavery. No one was willing to buy their freedom for them, and the Pit master would never let them get enough credits to buy it themselves.

Jazz shushed him gently, taking control, knowing that if he didn't give Sunstreaker a chance to think or to fight, the coding would subside. "We can clean yer lil bro up too. Would ya like that? No more watchin' 'em use 'im."

Sunstreaker nodded, an almost desperate edge to him now, and he reached for Jazz, daring to hope that this mech was honest, daring to hope that he meant every word he said. He allowed Jazz to pull him into his arms, and he was lifted up, still shaking. "Let's take care a tha' for ya." There was a click of armor plating shifting, and the edges of the world grew dark as Sunstreaker sank into a forced stasis, and the coding promptly shut itself down as well. Jazz looked over at Prowl, who's expression was grim as he put Sideswipe under as well.

"It's startin' ta get to ya too, huh luv?"

It wasn't often that the two of them were put on cases like this. Prowl dealt with pursuits and detective work more than anything, and Jazz was part of a behavioral unit. They could deal with most of the things that Cybertron's criminal underworld had to offer, but when it came to sparkling and youngling cases, they struggled to stay objective.

"Yes," Prowl said softly, bundling Sideswipe in his arms and beginning to walk. "It is."

.~:*:~.

Prowl held Jazz off for as long as he could, and at first it was easy enough. The younglings were being kept in the hospital while Ratchet worked on their frames and coding, and yes, Jazz came home distressed and miserable from their case, but a night alone with Prowl was enough for him to be his usual bouncy self in the morning before he slipped away again to check on the brothers before his early shift.

He knew that it couldn't last of course, that one day the younglings would leave the hospital, alive and well and ready for a new home. When Jazz came home with the red mechling sleeping in his arms and the yellow one attached to his leg, however, Prowl froze. He'd known, seen it coming, and he'd prepared a dozen reasons they shouldn't keep them, and counters to any argument his mate might make. Jazz looked so crestfallen, though, and Prowl made himself listen before raising protests. He owed Jazz that much respect, at least.

"No one in Kaon will claim 'em, Prowler. Said tha' if they were found there, they was likely sparked there - not many younglin's end up on those streets from other city-states, ya know? No one wants ta be the one ta send a bitlet down ta Kaon. But everyone's sayin' they're bad luck and no one wants 'em." He shook his helm, keening a soft note of distress. "'Ow could they say that 'bout these two lil miracles, Prowler? Bad luck? If they're bad luck they wouldn' be so strong!"

"Jazz." Vocals set at a low baritone to try to sound soothing, Prowl just looked at his mate. He couldn't bear that spark broken look on his bright sparked love. "You know you shouldn't have brought them home."

"Just fer tonight, Prowler. Please? They're gonna be put into tha system tomorrow, an' ya know how scary that can be fer young ones. Just let 'em stay here tonight, ta feel safe? I picked this one up when 'e started ta panic at the clinic, and when 'e fell inta charge Ratch said this is the easiest this lil un has had chargin' since we brought 'im in. I couldn't just set 'im down after I heard that-"

Prowl reached out to touch Jazz's cheek, and the smaller enforcer gasped as he realized he had started to cry. Prowl wiped the tears away with his thumb and leaned in close, careful of the sleeping sparkling. He had known the moment they found them that Jazz would end up bringing them home, and he had known that the moment it happened, he wouldn't really be able to say no.

"You don't have to let them go, Jazz," he murmured, offering a reassuring smile. "Not tonight or tomorrow, or any other day. Just say the word, and I'll fill out the datapads tonight and start the adoption process." They had never had sparklings of their own, because Prowl could not spark. They had tried for vorns, hoping that either one of them would finally kindle, before finally finding Ratchet, who told Prowl about his infertility. His frame and processor were likely to eliminate any spark he carried, and he used so much spark energy for his TacNet that he would never give off enough excess to spark Jazz. Ratchet had told them it was a miracle they'd even managed to bond without help. Jazz had been miserable over it, though he had tried to hide it from Prowl. He hadn't wanted Prowl to think he blamed him for their inability to create together.

This, this was something Prowl could do for him. Something he wanted to do for him. After all, Prowl wanted sparklings too, and always had. He'd been devastated when he learned he couldn't have any, even if it had presented itself in a different way from what another mech might had.

Jazz sobbed and moved to lean against Prowl, thanking him through their bond. This was their chance, the only chance either would ever get to have sparklings, and the twins - Jazz hadn't told Prowl about that part yet, but he would - were a little… different. Ratchet had warned him that they would be a handful for any caretakers, especially first time ones.

The red one had very little control of himself, his spark was strained, his frame was stunted, and he cried a lot, more than most sparklings Ratchet dealt with. The yellow one by contrast was far too silent, had a tendency to lash out rather than speak up about anything bothering him, and he was bordering on a sociopathic mental state, too. They would be a handful, Jazz knew. They would need constant care and frequent checks with Ratchet, at least for a few hundred vorns.

But Jazz knew they could all handle it together. He couldn't say how he knew. He just did.


End file.
